


Throb

by resonae



Category: S.W.A.T. (2003)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonae/pseuds/resonae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re real.” He whispered. “I’m not dreaming, Brian, am I?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throb

“Hey.” Jim nuzzled his nose into the short blonde hair.

 

The man in his arms responded by mumbling and turning so he could bury his face in Jim’s bare chest. “Sleep.” He muttered, and Jim chuckled, pressing gentle kisses onto the crown of his head and his forehead. “Jimbo.” He whimpered. “I’m sleepy.”

 

“It’s past midday, Bri.” Jim nuzzled lower, biting along Brian’s jawline. “You gonna let the day all waste away?” Brian nodded in his arms and Jim chuckled, tugging Brian up to place baby kisses on his lips. Brian flicked his tongue out and Jim caught it gently between his teeth, tugging it out and swallowing it past his own lips. Brian tried to push him back, but Jim chuckled and sucked on his tongue. “Come on, babe. Let’s get up.”

 

Brian whined. “Boo you.” Nonetheless, he came along as Jim managed both of them out of the bed and into the shower. Jim managed to get them both through it without traumatic head injuries – Brian had a tendency of flopping himself in Jim’s arms in the shower – and coaxed Brian dry and out into the kitchen. “Don’t wanna cook.”

 

“I’ll get something done.” Jim suggested, getting up to dig in the fridge, but Brian caught his sleeve, looking suddenly alert. “What?”

 

“The last time you cooked something, you set half the kitchen on fire. And you were just _boiling water_ for ramen. I’ll make us something.” Brian grumbled as he stretched, yawning before he made his way over to the fridge. He sighed and dug out a carton of eggs and grabbed the bag of rolls from the top of the fridge, and soon Jim smelled sausages and eggs cooking.

 

Within minutes Brian was pushing a plate in his direction, and Jim tugged Brian over so they were hanging off the same chair. Brian laughed and complained, moving so he was sitting on Jim’s lap. Jim pushed his arms under Brian’s, holding him and burying his face in Brian’s back. “You aren’t eating?”

 

“When you’re done.” Jim replied, resting his chin on Brian’s shoulder. “Or you could feed me over your shoulder.” He could practically hear Brian roll his eyes, but Brian leaned backward into him, and Jim felt the way Brian’s cheeks moved as he chewed, and felt the movement of taut muscles as Brian fed him over his shoulder.

 

Brian suddenly froze. “Hey, Jimbo.” Brian’s hand lowered and Jim felt Brian’s gun-calloused fingers rub the back of his hand. “What… what’s this scar?”

 

Jim frowned. “Scar?”

 

“Yeah, this – when did you get this? I swear that wasn’t there yesterday.” Brian twisted on his lap and showed Jim his hand. Jim stared. The back of his hand was heavily scarred over, like someone had stabbed him in the hand. “Jim?” Brian’s voice sounded worried, but Jim couldn’t look up. “Jim, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

 

Jim closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist. He buried his face in Brian’s neck and breathed in Brian’s scent, clean and soapy from the shower but still _Brian_. “You’re real.” He whispered. “I’m not dreaming, Brian, am I?”

 

\--

 

Jim’s eyes snapped open. His hand throbbed intensely and Jim grunted, reaching blindly for the pills on his bedside. He swallowed two pills dry and fell back down onto his pillows, waiting for the throbbing his in hand to fade. The bed beside him was cold. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Brian.” He threw his arm out onto the other side of the bed.

 

He got up, swaying for a moment before he steadied himself and trudged to the shower. It was 4AM, and he had 2 hours before his shift started, but it wasn’t like he could go back to sleep anymore. He turned the water to scalding hot before stepping under it, not even bothering to peel his clothes off. He slid down to the floor and stayed there, curled up in a ball until the water went from scalding to icy.

 

When he dragged himself to the precinct, Sanchez greeted him with, “You look like shit, Street.” He managed a wave in her direction and all but collapsed at his desk. He’d always missed Brian’s incessant talking since he’d left the force, but now it swallowed him in an ominous silence that he couldn’t ignore. He glanced at Brian’s empty desk. No one had cleaned it out, and Brian’s messy scrawl was still all over the notebook he’d been doodling in before they were called out for the hostage situation.

 

He stood up and sat at Brian’s desk, his fingers tracing over everything. He picked up the notebook and couldn’t help but snort laughter when he saw ‘ _James Street is a dumbass motherfucker who isn’t getting any tonight_ ’. Brian had made various patterns with his blue pen over the rest of the page, but the words were at the center, bolded, underlined and circled multiple times. The rest of the pages also had doodles, all related to Jim. Sometimes Brian had drawn a surprisingly good portrait of Jim. Sometimes he’d written Jim’s name all over his paper in different graffiti style. Sometimes Brian had an angry rant about Jim and his ‘complete inability to read any sort of emotion’.

 

He wasn’t even aware he was crying until drops fell onto the paper. He blinked his tears back and gingerly closed the notebook. He dragged a box over and packed it with Brian’s things. Most of them were filled with traces of both of them. Jim even found a box of condoms and couldn’t help but blush at the memory of getting caught in the bathroom by Boxer.

 

“You think he went to hell?”

 

Jim looked up to find Sanchez, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on her face. She helped him pack up the rest of Brian’s things, and he shook his head. “No.” He rubbed his temples. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

Sanchez didn’t push the subject, and Jim crumbled back into his seat.

 

\--

 

“Hurts.” Brian whispered, and Jim stilled.

 

He kissed down Brian’s neck, beaded with sweat. “Relax for me.” Brian’s legs quivered around him, and Jim nibbled down his chin, flicking his tongue against the cleanly shaven chin. He started to move slowly and Brian gasped, tightening his legs around his waist. Jim pushed a hand under Brian’s waist, angling him for better access.

 

They weren’t noisy during sex – it was mostly pants and soft moans and grunts, and their bed was pliant and silent underneath them – but hands roamed, tongues swiped and lips kissed. Jim thought their windows would fog up if the room was smaller, the way both of them were breathing so hard. Even though they weren’t vocal, the room was filled with sounds that Jim thought were even more arousing – the sound of skin slapping skin as he thrust into Brian, the sound of lips sucking, the sound of sheets rustling.

 

He reached between them and stroked Brian to completion, and Brian whimpered lowly as he came, digging his teeth into Jim’s shoulders and clamping tightly around Jim. Jim wasn’t long after, and he nibbled on Brian’s earlobe as he continued with his thrusting even as he came. “How are you?” Jim asked, pulling the towel nearby to pat Brian’s stomach down.

 

“Deliciously fucked out.” Brian responded, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He wiggled when Jim pulled out and started wiping him clean. “So how’d you get this thing, anyway?” Brian took Jim’s scarred hand and flicked his tongue at the scar. “It _must_ have been when I wasn’t with you on shift. I would have remembered.”

 

Jim kissed his nose. “Something like that. I can’t really remember.”

 

Brian clicked his tongue and kissed the wound. “This is why you should always be with me. Don’t go on shifts without me anymore. I’m like your lucky charm.”

 

“My guardian angel,” Jim agreed. He kissed Brian’s nose again and watched Brian frown sadly over the wound. “I love you, Bri.”

 

Brian looked up, a bright smile on his face. “Yeah, babe. Me too.”

 

\--

 

“It’s like you’re living in a dream.” Boxer told him one day. His arm was in a sling after Brian had shot him in the shoulder, but he was up and about.

 

Jim looked up from cleaning his gun out. “You think that’s possible? Like that movie.” He put his rifle down and stared at it. It was Brian’s, actually. It fit his hand like it was meant to, and it felt more comfortable than his own did. “I see him every night.” Jim buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes.

 

Boxer sat next to him. “You mean Gamble?”

 

“Who else?” Jim laughed emptily, and then sighed. “Fuck, I miss him.” Jim laughed sadly again. “Fuck that.” His hand started to throb. “I killed him.” The throb intensified, and Jim cradled his hand. He wanted to throw up and rampage and cry and punch something all at the same time. “Fuck, I loved him so much.”

 

Boxer leaned back onto the wall behind them. “Yeah, I know you did. You two were some pair.”

 

“You don’t hate him?” Jim said, leaning back like Boxer was doing. “For shooting you.”

 

Boxer’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Nah. You and I both know what a shot he is, Street. He could’ve shot me dead, but he didn’t. I’m not thankful he shot me, but I don’t hate him for it. I get he was pissed off at Fuller.” Boxer sneaked a glance. “At you.”

 

Jim stared at his still-bandaged hand. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “At me.”

 

\--

 

“Bri. Are you angry at me?”

 

Brian frowned down at him. They were sprawled on the couch, with Jim’s head on Brian’s lap. Brian’s hand had been threading through Jim’s hair, and Jim nuzzled into his hand. “What?” Brian scowled. “Why would I be mad at you?”

 

Jim sighed. “I dunno. Just.” He sat up and pulled Brian over onto his lap, burying his face in Brian’s chest. “If I’m gone, Bri, would you miss me?”

 

Brian flinched, and then stiffened. “Are you – are you leaving?” He tried to lift Jim’s face up from his chest.

 

“No, no.” Jim said, holding Brian tighter. “I’d never leave you. Never. I was just wondering. I was just thinking.” He swallowed thickly and felt his heart thrum in his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He let Brian lean back. Brian looked confused. “You were always there for me, Bri. Always put me first, always trusted me. But I – I put myself first and didn’t even realize what I’d done wrong. I was so selfish that I was mad at you for leaving when I was the one who pushed you away.”

 

Brian’s hand rubbed his cheek and he shifted on Jim’s lap. “Jimbo, what’re you talking about?” His expression was tender. “You’ve never pushed me away. I never left. I’m right here.”

 

Jim smiled at Brian and tears threatened to spill. “Bri, I killed you. I betrayed you and pushed you away and killed you. This is my dream.” Brian’s hand froze. “You knew that, baby, didn’t you? Of course you did. You always knew everything. I just wanted it all to be a lie. I was hoping that you’d be here, with me.”

 

Brian was stroking his scarred hand again. “Jimmy.” He smiled sadly, gently kissing the scarred hand. “You didn’t kill me. I did it to myself.”

 

Jim held him tighter. “I pushed you away. If Fuller told you to stay without me, you would have flipped him off and laughed in his face. I thought only for myself and didn’t even realize how much I’d wronged you until – until now. I yelled at you for leaving me after 5 years of being partners and in the end I never did get that it was me, after all. Baby, I’m so sorry.”

 

Brian hummed in his throat and leaned into him, resting their foreheads together. “I’m dead.” Brian said, and Jim flinched. “Nothing can change that, Jim. Stop blaming yourself. You did what was only necessary. I always loved you, you know. Even when I gave you this scar. But you need to wake up.”

 

Jim sought out Brian’s lips and Brian smiled through the kiss. “You’re real.”

 

Brian laughed. “I don’t know. Who knows? But I’ll be here.” Brian’s hand ghosted along the scar on Jim’s hand. “Stop hurting. It hurts me when you’re in pain.”

 

\--

 

Jim woke up to the sound of cliché birds and the feeling of morning sun on his face. His bandaged hand was thrown to the side Brian had used to sleep in, and the warm sunlight on the side warmed his entire arm. On a whim, he unwrapped the bandages around his hand and stared.

 

The wound had been bleeding, still open just yesterday when the doctor had redressed it. But a clean hand stared back at him, wound scarred over and completely closed. He laughed as he fell back onto the sheets, his fingers sliding over the warm sheets on the other side.

 

His hand no longer throbbed.


End file.
